


Love's Death

by drakaryss



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bjorn has some NERVE, F/M, Reader is tired, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakaryss/pseuds/drakaryss
Summary: After years of dealing with unrequited feelings, Bjorn comes to a realization.
Relationships: Bjorn (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Bjorn (Vikings)/Reader, Bjorn (Vikings)/You, Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Hvitserk (Vikings)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Love's Death

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINAL SEASON OF VIKINGS!

"You shouldn't be here,..."

Gunnhild's words cut through the thick tension in the grand hall, sharper than the edge of the axe you wielded against them during the battle against the Rus. Though her voice carried a tinge of sorrow, the sheer exhaustion, physical and mental, hid any other emotion the warrior felt.

Deep blue eyes met yours when you looked up from your blood-stained hands. You swore Gunnhild could see right through you, that she could pick apart the indifference you feigned.

Gunnhild was right. You shouldn't be here. You were a traitor. You alongside the Rus against your own. 

"And yet, despite everything… Bjorn still wants to see you."

Of course, you knew. You had always known how Bjorn felt about you, and, for some time, you felt the same.

You two met when you came to his aid with Harald and Halfdan, your battle axe strapped to your back. Between constant teasing, shared tankards of ale and hidden compliments, you and Bjorn grew close.

But Bjorn was too much like his father for his own good.

Where he had the shieldmaiden Lagertha's kindness, Ragnar's brashness overpowered it. Where he had her intelligence, his thoughtless curiosity got the best of him. He was impulsive, reckless, and shared his father's lust for fame and glory. 

And that made him dangerous.

Yet, despite every inch of your brain screaming at you, telling you not to go, your legs had a mind of their own. You brushed past Gunnhild and Ingrid, slipping into the bedroom and sighing when your eyes met Bjorn's.

"You're awake," you said, your fingers curled around the wood of the doorframe. Your fingernails dug into the wood, refusing to let go, no matter how badly your legs wanted to move forward.

Bjorn opened his mouth to speak, but as he took a breath, he burst into a coughing fit. You were on him in an instant, turning his head to the side so he could spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. 

It was through shallow breaths and trembling lips that Bjorn finally spoke. "Why did... you…" he paused to take a shaky breath before he was interrupted by the harsh coughs grating at his throat.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling through your mouth. You knew what he was trying to ask.

Why did you side with the Rus?

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, even though his eyes, disappearing under his fluttering eyelids every few moments, begged for some semblance of an answer; begged for you to enlighten him as to why the hell you had sided with the enemy, why you had so openly betrayed the Vikings.

"Bjorn…" 

"And… even though you…" he cut himself off to take a breath, chest heaving in pain. "I l…love you…"

Love?

After years of chasing other girls and ignoring the feelings you so openly displayed for him, ignoring your pleas to be rational and think things through, he comes out with this. After watching him disappear into the tent with the Sami girl, marrying Gunnhild, and later, Ingrid, he tells you he loves you.

Bjorn Ironside was never satisfied, was he? He took and he took and he took without a moment's hesitation until there was nothing left to take, like a child petulantly cradling his treasure to his chest, refusing to leave anything for the other children.

It was infuriating.

"You don't get to do this to me now, Bjorn Ironside," you said, stepping away from him with your fists slowly clenching at your sides. "You don't get to play this game with me, not when you ignored how I felt about you."

Felt?

You had always loved Bjorn; of that, he was certain. You had been by his side, always, even when you clashed over a decision he had impulsively made; even when he disregarded your feelings for him and continued to sleep around with any willing woman he pleased.

And now, on his deathbed, you tell him you used to love him.

What made you stop?

"Y/N…"

"No, Bjorn," you shook your head firmly, blinking back the tears that threatened to slip from the corner of your glassy eyes. "If you have any… any semblance of love for your brother, you'll let this go. I came here because I wanted to make sure you were still alive, not because I wanted to have this conversation with you.”

Bjorn's paint-covered brows furrowed in confusion, and he pushed through the pain in his abdomen to sit up on trembling arms, gasping and clutching the bandaged wound on his side. 

"B… brother?"

A memory flashed in his eyes, and though it seemed distant, he was able to picture it completely; as clear and vivid as if it were happening right before his eyes, though, this time, he acknowledged it.

A memory of the battlefield on that afternoon, blood-stained axes and heavy swords meeting metal armor and reinforced shields. The light drizzle of rain coming down on you, diluting the dried blood on your face as you ran to Hvitserk's aid, slaying any enemy that dared to stand between you and him.

He realized Hvitserk had been doing the same thing, swinging his axe in an almost maniacal manner, war cries ripping from his throat, so loud Bjorn could hear them clearly from where he stood. The two of you met in the middle, taking a second to look over each other's injuries. Hvitserk's bloody, cut-up hand brushed against the skin of your cheek for nothing but a moment.

It was the look on Hvitserk's face that made Bjorn realize what he had seemed to dismiss in that moment. The way his hard eyes softened when you nodded gently against his hand to let him know you were alright. The way his lips parted to tell you he loved you before you both threw yourselves back into the fray.

"Hvitserk." 

"Yes, Hvitserk."

The two of you were silent for a few moments, allowing Bjorn to take in his sudden realization. You stood with your arms idly crossed over your chest, your eyes scanning the room for anything to calm the anger bubbling in your stomach.

"How… how long?"

Your mind drifts to a memory, too. A memory you've grown very fond of. A memory of spring, flowers growing on the fields and trees, heavy with green leaves and bearing delicious fruit, surrounding you and Hvitserk. You remember the grin on Hvitserk's face, and imagine it mirrored your own. 

All the love in the world shone in his eyes that day. The love Bjorn never felt inclined to give you.

"We married in the spring," you said, cold hands rubbing at your arms, creating friction in the hopes it would bring you some warmth, or at least shield you from Bjorn's cold gaze. "Not very long ago, but we love each other.”

Bjorn all but scoffed at the revelation, averting his eyes elsewhere and grimacing, a hand pressing down on his bandaged side. Suddenly, he pushed himself to his feet, staggering towards you. Bjorn wasn’t able to get very far, as Gunnhild, Ingrid and Erik rushed in, forcing him to settle back down. His blue eyes searched yours, hoping to find that mischievous and playful gleam in them, telling him that you’re lying. He searched your face for the telltale sign, for the slight twitch of the corner of your lips, but it never came.

Bjorn Ironside loved you. You had always been the one for him, no matter how many women came before you. And now that he had finally come to realize— no, acknowledge— his feelings for you, to accept them, you were out of his grasp. It felt as if Freyja herself was mocking him, mocking his own stupidity.

To some extent, he was happy. Happy you had finally found love, but at the same time, his heart ached at the revelation. You simply didn’t love him anymore. At least, not in the way he wanted you to; not in the way he needed you to.

Ingrid turned to you, an unreadable expression on her face. Looking between you and Bjorn, she sighed deeply, but before she could open her mouth to speak, you had put your hand up, halting the words before they left her throat. 

“I know,” you said. “I won’t tell them. As far as they’re aware, Ironside is dead.” Then, looking towards Bjorn, you stepped forward, took his calloused hands in his and bowed your head in reverence. “Goodbye, Bjorn Ironside,” you whispered, pressing your lips to the back of his hands. “May the gods watch over you.” 

You didn’t wait for his reaction, because you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. So, nodding in Gunnhild and Ingrid’s direction, you took a step back. Without casting the scene before you another look, you spun around on the heel of your muddy boots, ignoring Bjorn calling after you as your feet carried you out of the hall and into the snowy town of Kattegat.


End file.
